The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1887-01-07
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PETER FAME.
nY ARTHUR DUDLEY y1Sros.

The road from Keene village to
Bethnal Corners ran zigzagging down
the side OF a hill, and then, having
traversed q stretch of level ground,
crossed Stony Brook by covered
wooden bridge, whose time-stained
walls were yet adorned with fragments
OF gaudy-colored circus posters. The
road was in none too good repair, es-
pecially on the hillside where rains
had washed bare many stones and
lett ruts and hollows, and the bridge
was dilapidated and shook omnous-
ly under each passing vehicle orpedes-
trian. But there were few travellers
over either road or bridge and the
town was poor, SO the selectmen left
it both for time and the elements to
prey upon unchecked.
J At the side of this road. just before
it came to the bridge, stood the grist
mill and cottage OF Peter Fame, joined
one to the other by an enclosed shed
and unpainted and unadorned except
by clambering vines and the weather
stAlnS Oh past years.
1t was the evening OF the day before
Thanksgiving. In the year IS. Pc
ter Fame, the miller, stood in the
doorway OF the cottage smoking his
big-bowled pipe and looking out over
the dusty road as it wound down the
hill. He was an old man, of some 70
years, but he looked fresh and hearty,
as if likely to wealth many another
winter storm and to bask under many
another summer sun. His long white
hair and white beard harmonized with
| the flour-dusted jean overalls which
he wore, and his black eyes scanned
| the scene about him with wistful,
eager expression, as if hoping to see
some anxiously- expected traveller.
| But there was no moving thing nor
sign OF lire within Peter Fane's sight,
save only q belated crow swiftly
swinging his way to his home among
the leaf1ess trees upon the hill.
The sun was setting behind a bank
OF cloud which the wind was swiftly
driving up from the northwest, and
as its beams Were withdrawn the air
grew gray and became colder. 1t was
very still, the only signs were the mur-
mur OF the brook near by flowing ov-
er the stones and pebbles of its bed, or
the "caw, cav" OF the distant crows.
So still was it, indeed, that the silence
seemed to force itself upon Peter
Fane's unwilling attention, and the
expression OF expectation on his face
faded and was replaced by look of
grave disappointment.
Seventy years had Peter Fane-as
boy and man-lived by that old mill.
He was but 20 when his father, dying,
left him to run the old mill, and for
SO years years he had remained at his
post stationary, amid all the changes
and events about him. And how
many changes there had been; how
many friends had come or gone, died
or moved away during the lapse of
those many years! Business had
been brisk and he had worked hard
and laid aside for a rainy
day; business had been dull,
and he had smoked his pipe
and waited lor better times.
There was no lack of life about the
old mill in those early years, for the
road was then u highway over which
stages and numerous teams passed
each day. There was then almost in
yariably agroup around the mill door,
while within the air was always misty
with flying flour dust, and the ma
chlnery kept up an almost continu-
GUS clatter. Now months sometimes
passed before the mill was set in mo-
tion, and the grass around the door
was seldom pressed by other feet than
Peter Fane's, and the passers-by were
few and far between.
The contrast between the old times
and the new forced itself upon Peter
Fane's mind as he stood at his cot
tage door in the cleaning OF that
Thanksgiving eve, and, with sigh OF
| regret for those vanished wears, he
knocked the ashes from his pipe, and
turning back into the cottage, busted
himself in preparing his evening meal
for Peter Fame lived all alone, unless
q faithful dog can be called a compan.
ion.
All the day Peter Fame had been op.
pressed with that peculiar intuition
which every one feels somtimes dur
| ing his life, that some one, he knew
not whom, was about to arrive. This
feeling had haunted Peter Fame; it had
loOShO MN IllOIo ulltl OilCe 10
the door, and now, as he sat by the
/ tireside, with his dog curled up at his
feet, it continued to haunt him. Yet
his reason told him that his expecta-
tion was only idle folly. for who was
there in the wide world who would
care to seek the old miller out, now
that wife, children and friends were
dead?
He sat by the fire, smoking and
thinking, until bedtime came, and then
he carefully laid his pipe upon the
shelf, and going once more to the door
opened it and looked out. The clouds
\ covered the whole OF the sky and the
snowfiakes were falling thick and fast
! and all the earth was hid beneath
1T cir feecy crystals. Though the
moon, and the stars were hidden, there
was yet dim light in the air that in
distinctly and vaguely disclosed the
dark outlines of the mill near by, and
the bridge farther off, and the bare
branches OF the trees overhead; but OF
human life there was no sign. Peter
Fame looked carefully about him, then
shut and fastened the door, piled the
ashes over the glowing brands upon
the hearth that there might be live
Goals to light his fire the next morn.
ing, and went to bed.
| He slept, then suddenly awoke, for
something had aroused him from
slumber. He raised himself up and
listened, not sure whether the sound
| he seemed to hear was real or only
some echo ef memory in his brain.
Perhaps it was the clock striking
12, for uow as he sat up in bed he
heard the vibration OF the gong ring.
! ing yet, faint and distinct, but still
perceptible through thesilence. Surely
it must have been the s.r ing OF the